


repressed

by catpoop



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: (hankcon), Canon Universe, Crack, Detroit Police Department (Detroit: Become Human), Established Relationship, M/M, Minor Violence, One Shot, Post-Canon, socially awkward RK900
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:47:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24957076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catpoop/pseuds/catpoop
Summary: Connor wishes RK900 would accept his deviant emotions
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor, Upgraded Connor | RK900 & Gavin Reed
Comments: 14
Kudos: 47





	repressed

**Author's Note:**

> jotted this out in one sitting

Ever since Markus sent news of the RK900 prototype he had discovered deep within a Cyberlife warehouse, Connor has been feeling a sort of giddy excitement. Despite having had a few months to familiarise himself with the nuances of deviancy, it is still often difficult to put a label to an emotion when it is not neatly filed away under ‘celebratory_elation02.exe’. Hank empathises with this, tells him that humans often have no clue what is going on in their heads, just look at all the shrinks and therapists, et cetera and so on. 

On this particular occasion though, Hank quickly identifies what is going on, a grin lifting the corners of his mouth as Connor continues to gabble on about the advantages and disadvantages of discovering a superior model.

“Sounds like you’re excited to be getting a new baby brother, or something.”

Connor pauses, even though the urge to verbally ruminate on the spreadsheet of pros and cons he has displayed on his HUD is still there. “A brother?”

“Like your mom just announced her pregnancy.” Hank’s gaze has drifted to the left, like he’s recalling something from the past. “Not that I’m saying Markus is your mom, of course.”

Connor shakes his head. “No. Markus had no part in constructing this chassis.”

“Yep. Anyways –” Hank gestures, “Tell me more about this RK900. When will we meet him?”

They don’t meet the RK900 until a few days later, when Connor is called into Fowler’s office alone and nearly jumps in surprise when he spies the android standing motionless in one corner.

“Connor.” Fowler gestures to an empty seat. The RK900 does not choose to sit. “This is RK900, as you may already know. Now normally, we wouldn’t hire someone nearly as quickly after they submit their application, but I think, after the revolution –”

Connor nods. It makes sense. And if the RK900 has a skillset modelled off his own, then the android would have had no problem with any of the entry tests. 

“He’ll be working part-time to begin with, and will need a partner and supervisor. And as a newly deviant android –” Fowler pauses again, scratching his temple before looking Connor in the eye. “What I’m saying, basically, is that I would be very grateful if you could act as a buddy to RK900 here, just for the first few weeks. Y’know, help him figure out the logistics of the place. What do you say?”

“That would be no problem at all, Captain.”

“Great!” Fowler’s shoulders immediately loosen, though they tense up again as he follows Connor to the door, sticking his head out as Connor descends the steps.

“Reed! In here, now!”

Connor tries not to pull a face.

Reed and RK900 get on as well as can be expected. Connor’s preconstructions had accounted for a percentage chance in the single digits of them working well together, so it hadn’t at all taken him by surprise. What _is_ unexpected, though, is the way RK900 rebuffs every single one of Connor’s friendly interactions. The android hardly says a single word, beyond what is needed to communicate, and barely responds to his own name. Connor has asked about that too, to a stilted:

“RK900 is my designation.”

Connor worries, is all he can say. He tells Hank as much.

“I don’t think he’s accepted the fact he’s deviant. And what kind of a name is ‘RK900’?”

Hank’s arm around his waist and hand on his thigh is soothing, but not enough to distract him completely.

“Have you tried talking to him about it?”

“Ugh,” Connor groans into Hank’s neck. “I’ll try again tomorrow.”

“Good luck.”

The TV is on behind him, but Connor doesn’t pay it any attention. He wonders is Hank is actually watching – if so, the man has a lot of patience to be putting up with him complaining on his lap.

“He doesn’t even get mad at Reed. I don’t understand it.”

Hank chuckles. “Guess he really values the job. That’s the only way I’d ever be able to tolerate Reed.”

“I suppose that’s true…” It doesn’t explain why RK900 is similarly standoffish and cold to all of his colleagues, but Connor supposes that’s what their talk will have to address. 

Hank’s hand has moved to smooth down the curve of his back, and Connor lets himself physically relax even as his brain runs a hundred preconstructions for tomorrow’s conversation. He’ll have to corner RK900 this time, to prevent his speedy escape, as well as account for the prototype’s unwavering insistence on following his mission parameters – which always involves something that gets him away from Connor’s small talk as fast as possible.

He’s a smart one – which well, makes sense. Connor often wonders what goes on in that big brain of his, but of course, he can’t initiate an interface without consent. He only has his investigative skills to fall back on, but when RK900 prefers to keep his facial plates frozen in default position and his synthetic voicebox deactivated unless necessary, even Connor struggles to pick up on clues. 

God knows how Reed cooperates with his android partner.

Connor watches them from across the bullpen the next day, and eyes with some satisfaction the way Reed swings a fist towards RK900’s abdomen before letting out an unholy yell when it collides. Reed spits and shakes his head and stumbles back to his desk, and Connor decides to use the split-second window of opportunity to corner RK900 in the break room.

“RK900,” he declares, walking up to the android, palms up in a sign of peace and footsteps strategically placed to counter the way RK900 is already trying to escape. “I just want to talk.”

RK900 looks at him silently, and Connor shakes himself when he doesn’t get the expected nonverbal cue to begin. Right. 

“I think you’re scared of being deviant, and I know emotions are confusing – I was scared too, and sometimes I’m still confused. But you shouldn’t be afraid to let them out, because it’s healthier to express your emotions, and doing so won’t compromise your mission. I promise. And as always – if you need any help with Detective Reed, don’t be afraid to ask.”

He wants to say more, has planned a whole monologue if necessary, but another officer has just entered the break room, and Connor takes a step back to let RK900 leave. The android doesn’t leave immediately, pausing to give him the faintest nod before striding around him and out of the doorway. 

Connor hopes that was a success. He can’t tell.

Nothing about RK900 changes immediately – because of course, it takes more than one brief conversation. Until Connor steps outside the bullpen for a second, that is. He returns from the evidence locker, running algorithms in his brain, and nearly jumps when Hank appears in front of him. The man has a manic look on his face.

“Connor! Con – fuck you’re not gonna believe this.”

“What is it, Lieutenant?” Connor asks even as he starts scanning the room behind Hank. He comes to the unfortunate conclusion about ten seconds before Hank tells him himself.

“The moment you left the room, RK900 fuckin’ got up from his desk and started bashing Reed’s head in. I think the man’s got a concussion – they’ve called an ambulance for him already.”

For RK900’s sake, Connor hopes it’s only a concussion. The smear of blood on Reed’s desk isn’t a good sign, and the way the man is slumped over in his chair is even more damning.

“What did you say to him earlier?” Hank asks, grabbing at Connor’s shoulders as he continues to stare past Hank.

“…Fuck.”

**Author's Note:**

> kudos n comments r <3 <3 <3
> 
> [tumblr](https://swummeng-geys.tumblr.com)  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/hashtag_yikes)


End file.
